a boy, a girl, an endless stretch of scenery
by ember53608
Summary: He asks her once if she thinks they'll get married, and she scoffs, training her eyes on a place pinned at the end of picturesque Ocean Boulevard, dotted with birches on one side and open to the salt scented sea on the other. skye ღ jeffrey.


Mind you, the first part of this is highly inaccurate to what actually happened in the book. I didn't have the book on me when I wrote this and had to go from memory, unfortunately, and when I did get my hands on it, I didn't feel like changing what I'd written. I think the second part's okay, though. But anyway, enjoy, and R&R!

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><p>Tucked away in the folds of a quaint Berkshire town is a street that rambles, past a truck painted over in red letters with TOMATOES, all the way down to a pair of towering pillars, one carved with NUMBER 11, the other with ARUNDEL. Double rows of poplars flank a lane that winds and winds past 'til it spills into rambling gardens of squared rosebushes and fountains that glint in the light of the morning summer sun. And there, in the midst of Eden, sits a mansion looming, Cair Paravel in the flesh, towers, balconies, terraces and all.<p>

Behind the driveway to the left and the carriage house that follows, on through the boundary hedge, a hundred yards or so past, a buttercup cottage sprouts climbing pink roses at its doorsteps. Stairsteps inside lead to rooms enchanted with closets twining two rooms and beds that are split down the days of the week. The kitchen downstairs has two pans in one cupboard, both perfect for baking brownies in.

A girl races past the wooden door, too enthralled by uncharted territory to hold back for her sister's chocolate delicacies. She runs close to the hedge, running her hand along its front until she comes to the end. There is a tunnel just her size at the bottom of it that's been waiting for her since she got here three hours ago. The girl pulls her dirt crusted camouflage hat over her head and dives, not just into the tunnel, but a boy she never sees coming. They collide like atoms: violently, spreading apart upon contact.

The girl opens her eyes. When he doesn't, she stares.

His is painted with hair browner than espresso, and freckles that are too many to count splatter his face, like God splattered the universe with stars. He lies motionless, as if waiting for someone to slap him into life, when then, there, come the clack of heels on pavement and a fluttering of eyelids and a green so true that spring could not compete.

Words unintelligible fly out his lips, and he moves past the girl, who is too stunned to speak, spilling out into broad daylight and the vicinity of his mother and her stilettos.

At the moment, it isn't all that important, but nonetheless-his name is Jeffrey Tifton, he plays the piano (a little cello, too), and, most importantly, he is in desperate need of a friend.

{. . .}

Skye Magee Penderwick-blue eyes, blue Skye-is not someone easily forgotten or missed. Staining every soul within her touch with bruises that never fade and oaths of what she thinks is friendship and nothing more, her presence is wont to fashion heartache out of lonely boys with stars for freckles, though truthfully, she does not know it.

He asks her once if she thinks they'll get married, and she scoffs, training her eyes on a place pinned at the end of picturesque Ocean Boulevard, dotted with birches on one side and open to the salt scented sea on the other. Lying in wait for the awkward and friendly pair is another endless stretch of scenery, but of a different kind. Of a smaller, quainter kind, of red roofs with shingles that don't line up and L-shaped porches guarded by bamboo screens,.

They are an insignificant twelve years old, and they know so little of love that the warmth of sitting side by side on the front porch is credited to a daffodil sun, and not their arms tracing the small of each other's back.

He sometimes sort of misses her, he tells her, before going back to that place pinned at the end of the boulevard for pancakes drizzled over in honey. His words float under her and over her, and she focuses on hunger in an attempt to forget. She does not want to reply, but loyalty to a friend-and maybe a tremolo of the heart-pushes her to say something anyway.

"I do, too," she says carefully, then clears her throat. "Sometimes."

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><p>I really wanna ask for prompts, but I've got a horde of Naruto ones in my inbox already. So, if you liked this and would like more, hopefully-soon.<p> 


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